


Day one: Flowers [Canada x Russia, aph Rarepair Week 2020]

by hollelujah



Series: Hetalia shots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Week 2020, At like 3am, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, RusCan - Freeform, and have not proofread anything, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24770281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollelujah/pseuds/hollelujah
Summary: Russia mails Canada flowers because he can't express himself like someone with social skills. I feel you my dude.________Just a short work because I told myself I'd contribute at least once to the Rare Pair Week and inspiration strikes at the worst moments.
Relationships: Canada/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791406
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	Day one: Flowers [Canada x Russia, aph Rarepair Week 2020]

______

There it was again. That weird way the light would hit his eyes, turning the brilliant forget-me-not blue to lavender for just an instant, a trick of the light. And Russia was absolutely captivated each time he caught it. It would make his already hurried notes turn to chicken scratch, and the void in his chest would ache for just a look, an amethyst glance his way.

Then the moment would pass, and he would realize he was supposed to be listening to the other's arguing, and his handwriting would be halfway legible once more, and the beautiful boy sat in front and to the right of him would be reduced to nothing more than the glint of his golden locks in Russia's peripherals.

Many meetings would pass like this lately, so many in fact that Russia was considering it to be an actual problem. It wasn't like he didn't stare at all the other nations, because of course he did, but the difference was that staring at Canada made him... _want_ things. Strange things. Mundane things, like brushing his hair out of his face, bringing his fingers away from where they'd worry his lips until they bled, hold his hand and walk beside him like it was the most normal thing in the world. Indeed strange things. Russia was almost scared to admit what he knew to be true form all those sappy French books he'd read a century ago. What he'd realized the moment Canada had walked into a meeting one unremarkable Thursday and made Russia's blood sing with a single, violet glance.

All of a sudden there was movement around him, a shift in how the others held themselves, and he realized he'd been gazing blankly at how the sunlight shone through Canada's curl, turning it to golden caramel. He came to his senses, nodded at the last few sentences of whatever England had been on about, and capped his pen so he didn't get ink everywhere. Then America was arranging his papers and checking for his pendrive, Germany was collecting his neatly-spaced, perfectly illegible notes, France and England were halfway out the door with their inconsequential bickering, and Russia... Russia was making a big show of carefully arranging everything into his folder so he could watch Canada go, again. The smaller was most noticeable when he moved, although his footfalls were so soft he could barely be heard. Holding a snoozing Kumajiro to his chest, slouching a bit, his hair fanning over his face; Canada always left like he came: quick, silent and, Russia could tell, observant.

He watched the other's wavy locks swish from side to side as they both walked down the hallway to the entrance, where Russia had his car and America was waiting for Canada. He saw a small, gentle smile on the other's face as he passed the brothers, something dark and heavy curling around his chest. Jealousy. He wanted Canada to smile for him too! But how? The poor nation must be scared of him, like all the others. Usually this didn't bother Russia at all, but for some reason Canada's fear stung like nobody else's did. He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts and slammed his car door harder than was necessary.

~~~

The fourteenth of February had never been that special to Russia, up until now. He'd only celebrated with someone a handful of times, and even then that hadn't been anywhere near as stressful as this. The stressful "this" in question was a bouquet of carefully pressed white clovers and purple heliotropes, tied with a little red bow, slipped into an envelope and mailed overseas a week earlier. He'd even dusted off his old typewriter to send a short message with the flowers. A poem, maybe, to make it's recipient smile. But eventually, after much skimming through books and frustrated annotations scribbled out on his notepad, he'd settled for something more simple. "You are seen". Creepy? Maybe, but Russia knew Canada probably thought of him as creepy anyway, so he typed it out onto some thick, old paper and put it in next to the flowers.

He would never quite forgot the warmth in his cheeks as he walked to the post office that day, despite the biting cold.

~~~

" _Fortunately, these idiots love debriefings_ ", Russia thought to himself, plopping down in his usual spot and resting his cheek in his palm. It was way too early, _he_ was way too early, and on top of that he had jetlag. The only reason attending a meeting at this hour was fortunate was because it was a allies meeting, witch meant Canada, witch meant something nice to focus on instead of military strategy or budgeting. Russia's bosses never let him partake in that sort of thing these days anyway so he'd just stopped paying attention at debriefings like this a while ago, letting the humans do what they pleased back home.

He barely registered the two brothers ambling past him until Canada's voice reached his ears, louder than the tenuous whispers he was used to.

"-yeah, in the mail!" Canada was saying, "Ah- no return address, either. The flowers were pretty though..."

"Bro, that's wild! But kinda creepy don't you think?" America responded, much louder, either not noticing or not caring that Russia was slumped nearby. ""You are seen", what if it's a stalker? I'll kick their ass for you little bro don't you worry!"

Canada's response was lost to Russia's ears, but he'd already gone stiff in his chair, his thoughts racing. They were pretty? This meant Canada had liked them, right? Should he send more? But it wasn't Valentine's anymore, so could he still send flowers? He wanted to hear Canada's voice that loud again. Russia wondered if the other had smiled when he received the envelope.

The meeting passed in a flurry of background chatter, scratched out doodles and scribbles on his notepad, and another tab on his phone showcasing lists of flowers shining from under the table.

~~~

Over the next few months, the little stream of gifts never stopped coming. It was usually flowers either potted or pressed, mostly some shade of purple or blue, and always with a little, awkward compliment in the same font on the same paper, resting in envelopes or tucked into the edges of a flowerpot or hidden amongst emerald leaves. On Christmas there had even been a scarf waiting on his doorstep when Canada got back from visiting his brother, chunky and warm and a gorgeous, soft brown. The note hidden in it's folds simply said: "Your smile is the sweetest", with a little drawing of a feather in golden ink as it's only signature. It had been puzzling and a little weird at first, but Canada had quickly come to find the little gifts endearing, as well as a much-welcomed reminder that there was someone out there besides America who remembered him.

Theproblem now lied in the fact that he didn't know who was sending everything. A country, obviously, none of his human friends had this particular address; but witch one?

~~~

Wait, wait, wait, _what?_ Why had Canada but put _that_ on the table?

Itwas one of Russia's envelopes. Canada had used America to get everyone to listen to him at the start of a meeting and then placed one of Russia's envelopes on the table, nudging it slightly towards the center with the tips of his fingers. He'd then explained the situation to the room at large in as loud a voice as he could muster, and just flat out asked them who had done it.

"And why would it be me?" France was asking, glaring defensively at America.

"Because you're exactly the sort to machinate some weird plan like this to mess with people!" England cut in.

"Well I didn't," France insisted firmly, gripping the edge of the table and squeezing it tightly as if imagining it to be England's neck.There was already an annoyed frown pinching his brow.

"Then tell us, who else?"

"Maybe it _is_ someone else though."

"It couldn't be Mexico right?"

Everyone'svoices blended together in Russia's mind, nothing actually registering. He couldn't own up! Not in front of everyone else! But he also wanted to tell Canada, to get over with the rejection and move on like he had done so many times over the centuries.

~~~

"Canada! Canada," Russia called, catching up to the other when the meeting ended. His cheeks were flushed and he was clutching something in his pocket, not sure if he dared to present it.

"Russia?" Canada asked, sounding surprised and a little uncertain. But he stopped in the corridor nonetheless, letting other nations slip past them both muttering their goodbyes.

"Canada, I..." Russia paused. The silence stretched for a few beats, both standing still and alone. The distant chatter got fainter and fainter, and Russia opted to pull his scarf over his face to hide everything but his eyes. "I was going to mail this after the meeting, but I thought," he drew out the small, tan envelope in his pocket and held it out with a shaky hand, "I thought this would be a faster way of getting it to you."

Canada's eyes widened. He carefully shifted Kumajiro to the crook of an elbow and took the envelope, his head spinning. So... all those sweet messages, all the kind words and cute flowers... it had been Russia?

He looked down. The envelope was unusual. For starters it had a seal, a marbled pattern of reds encapsulating two pressed buttercups. The symbol on the wax was a feather, not unlike the one that had been in the note the scarf carried. Canada broke the seal with care and drew out the now familiar objects: a pressed anemone in all it's petrified, lavender glory; and a note typed in the same way as all the others save for one thing. It was signed, in loopy Russian cursive, "Россия." He looked back at the unusually nervous nation in front of him. Russia was gripping his scarf tight, refusing to meet his eyes.

Canada bit his lip a bit. "I didn't know you liked flowers this much." He glanced at the paper clutched tight in his hands, then back up at the nation in front of him. "Your hair looks really soft too," he smiled reassuringly.

Russia's eyes lit up with almost childish glee. "You're... not scared?"

"Not that much," Canada carefully put the flowers and paper into the envelope, "it was only puzzling the first few times." They both stared at the other, purple eyes against lavender tinted blue. "So," Canada tried softly, "want to go watch a movie?"

**Author's Note:**

> "Россия" means Russia.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


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